My Father, the Hassid

Most parents will embarrass their children. The question is: how?

My father used to think Orthodox Jews were extinct. He considered himself a belly Jew --Jewish because of the foods he ate. The herring, the carp and the sable, the chicken soup and schav and kreplach, these survived the migration from Russia and Poland to America, but the rituals and spirit of Judaism did not.

Back in the 1960's, my father worked at a men's tailoring store, the Wohlmuth Company, in Nashville. His coworker was a man named Sam Golden, the first Orthodox Jew my father had ever met. He was astounded by Sam's kindness and generosity toward every schnorrer and ne'erdo- well who came through the store (or tried to). Once, a man in a black suit and hat showed up, asking for a donation. My father said, "Sam's not here" and sent him on his way. When Sam returned and my father mentioned something about a guy looking for a handout, Sam ran out the door and searched for two hours, trying to track the man down. He returned in defeat and told my father, "If anybody comes in here and needs anything, give it to them, and I'll give it back to you." Then, "I just want to tell you something, Mr. King. Don't think you're doing them a favor. They're doing you a favor."

My father thought Sam was crazy, and yet, a spiritual fire was lit. Soon after that, my father started putting on tefillin, then later, observing Shabbes and the holidays. My mother, from a traditional Sephardic household, went along with these changes. Still, my father wasn't completely given over; he had what some might call an attitude. He both admired rabbis and suspected them. He was convinced the whole kosher industry was a scam dreamed up by rabbis to make a buck. He was impatient with synagogue procedures. Whenever the shul president got up to speak, my father would later say, "That man loves the sound of his own voice." He didn't understand Judaism's preoccupation with religious laws and details. "When it's time for me to go to heaven," he'd tell us kids, "is God really going to say, ‘No, Bert, you tore toilet paper on Shabbes, you're not welcome up here'?"

And yet, it was his suspicion of rabbis and a desire to trump them that actually brought him closer to the synagogue to attend the rabbi's weekly Torah classes. He'd lean forward as the rabbi talked, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce with a question: "What kind of God would ask an old man to sacrifice his only son?" "How could Joseph's brothers sell him for a pair of shoes?" "How did Noah fit all those animals into the ark, anyway?" "And what was really going between Abraham and Hagar?" To my father's surprise, the rabbi was hardly startled or bothered by these asides. In fact, he welcomed them. The other congregants might give each other looks: "There goes Bert King again." But if they had a question they couldn't bring themselves to ask, my father would serve as feeder to the rabbi. "Tell Bert," they'd say. "He'll ask the rabbi." As a kid, I was embarrassed.

Over the years, my father became extremely devoted to the rabbi of the shul and, by extension, to the synagogue. The rabbi's wisdoms, both his biblical and off-the-cuff life insights, filled our Shabbes table conversations. When it was time to set up the chairs for an event at shul, my father would be the only one doing it every single time and the only one folding the chairs away. When it came time to put up the sukkah, there my father was, with maybe one other volunteer. People thought he was the janitor. This made me ashamed, too.

He barely knew Hebrew and said most of his prayers, with great feeling, in transliterated English. My siblings and I -- enrolled at the local Hebrew Academy -- were supposed to fill in the gaps. Once, my father asked us at which point he was supposed to bow down during the Shemoneh Esrei. I was seven. I took a stab: "Whenever it says, ‘Baruch Atah Hashem,' bend your knees and bow down." He followed my instructions until his rabbi told him that four bows would suffice instead of the 19 he'd been doing.

If only someone would've told me: "Your father is a ba'al teshuva (returnee to Orthodoxy)," maybe then I wouldn't have been so mortified by him, he who couldn't stop asking questions and doing things that other fathers didn't do. I didn't know what a ba'al teshuva was, not until years later. I'd never seen one before in my Young Israel community. Now there are plenty, but then it was an unknown phenomenon.

He taught me never to ignore another human being.

I served as my father's teacher, faulty as I was, when it came to halachah, or Jewish law. But my father was imparting knowledge to me, though at the time I was too embarrassed to realize it. Mostly, he taught me never to ignore another human being. He'd walk into a bank, see an obese teller with a pock-marked nose and chin, surely the most unattractive human being I'd ever laid my teenage eyes on, and he'd spread out his arms and say, "Darlin', you look like a million bucks!" (This was in the South, in the 1970's, where you still could get away with such comments.) She'd say, "Shucks, Mr. King, you just cut that out," but she'd be smiling and he'd be telling her a joke, and next thing you knew, she'd be bent over, chortling into her fist, then offering a joke of her own.

After we left the bank, I'd ask, "Dad, who's that woman you were talking to?" He'd spread out his hands, as if to say, "Beats me." He could never simply pass someone by. I used to think this was all Sam Golden's doing, the legacy of his coworker.

Once he saw an old Chinese woman, in traditional garb, wandering through the streets, obviously lost, mumbling incoherently. He said, "This mitzvah's mine," and he brought her home, and through hand motions and other charades, tried to get a family member or some other name out of her. She was terrified.

When her brother finally tracked her down, he found my father singing songs from the musical Fiddler on the Roof, the only words of English that seemed familiar to the old woman. She was smiling and rocking her head to the song. This mitzvah was his, all right. He was ambitious to do a kindness.

His rabbi, the one he'd been devoted to all those years, announced from the pulpit that there was one man in the shul who was going straight to Gan Eden for his ability to make people laugh and feel good. His name was Bert King. It was my father's most treasured moment. Still, I couldn't let go of my self-consciousness about him. There was something vaguely disgraceful about his chesed, especially in the eyes of a teenaged daughter. I felt this even as I was becoming more religiously observant.

Once I asked my father, "Dad, what would you do if you found $10,000 in the middle of the street?"

He looked uncomfortable. He said, "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You'd return it, right?" He said, "I'd like to think so, but I honestly can't tell you what I'd do."

I was furious at him. This was my pious father? The one who'd inspired me to take Judaism seriously, to go beyond what I'd received at home and at school?

And then I read a tale of a rebbe who had posed the same dilemma to three students. The first answered, "I'd return the money."

"You're too glib," said the rebbe.

The second said, "I'd keep it."

"You're a thief," said the rebbe.

The third said, "I'd want to keep the money, and I'd pray to G-d with all my being to give me the strength to resist."

"You're a Hasid," said the rebbe -- an upstanding human being.

My father, despite -- or perhaps because of -- his contradictions, is a Hasid.

Now that I'm a parent, I wonder if I'll embarrass my own children. Of course I will. It's inevitable that we embarrass our children. The question is how -- with our good deeds or our bad ones?

Featured at Aish.com:

About the Author

Ruchama Feuerman is a novelist and writing coach. Her latest work, "THE REBBETZIN'S COURTYARD" (Blackstone Audio)* has just been released in audio form, narrated by the actor, Sam Guncler. It is both a sequel to her award-winning novel, IN THE COURTYARD OF THE KABBALIST, and a self-contained story.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 38

(38)
Rivka,
October 5, 2012 6:33 AM

My next door neighbor

Bert was the perfect neighbor. He always had a smile and an age appropriate joke (I had 3 kids at the time). He taught me how to care for an aging parent be example; something that I am trying to live up to now. The joy he displayed every time he did a mitzvah was something to behold. My children heard him mention his regular attendance at the rabbi's shir thereby learning that Torah learning is a life-long occupation and goal. When I had a dispute with my landlord (who was also his friend), he was there for me. His is a very special nashamah who still influences me today (2012)

(37)
yosef bart,
June 23, 2011 6:15 PM

I don't know if you remember me - but I was the kid in shul whom your father used to call "Stoney" - because my English name is Evan. Your tribute to him is so beautiful, and brought back indelible memories of how much I loved seeing Bert King every time I set foot in yise. To myself and my peers at the time, as well as my family, he was the nicest, funniest, friendliest mentsch in the world. And I echo the words of Mori v'Rabbi Rav Anemer z'tzal - that he is indeed a man who will go straight to Gan Eden.

(36)
Reggie,
June 20, 2011 11:15 PM

Bless you.

I am a Gentile, and I do what your father does with ungainly tellers and others. I feel blessed.

(35)
Sarah Dinah,
June 17, 2011 11:46 AM

What a beautiful story!

I would have loved to have known your father...thank you for sharing him with us all :-) He sounds like a beautiful man.

(34)
Eljunia,
June 16, 2011 3:51 PM

There's a lesson here

There's a lesson here for all Jews and Non-Jews alike.

(33)
Galia Berry,
June 16, 2011 2:11 PM

wonderful tribute

what nachas for your father! Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute.

(32)
Bobby5000,
June 16, 2011 11:35 AM

The image we portray

Those who portrary Judaism in a positive light deserve special praise. The Hassid who displays Tzedakah and love towards friends and strangers shows Judaism in a wonderful light for Jews and non-Jews alike.
Contrariwise, those who bring disfavor should be condemned.

(31)
Marion Zweiter,
June 15, 2011 11:17 AM

Unfortunately, I have never had the pleasure of meeting your father, but I think I know him because you have captured his essence. What a great tribute to a Hassid for Father's Day! It is also interesting to note that memories change as our maturity and perspective grow. Your piece is a little gem.

(30)
Anonymous,
June 15, 2011 1:07 AM

What a beautiul tribute

I enjoyed the honesty and humour.

(29)
Frank,
June 14, 2011 7:27 PM

I love your father

I love your father. My father also embarassed us to no end. He also approached total strangers and embraced all the friends we brought home, no questions asked. He didn't give a hoot what other people thought. I think people of that generation had a charm which is lost on our culture. We need to remember them!

(28)
y,
June 14, 2011 6:47 PM

was embarassed , now i treasure it

i was embarassed when my dad came to shul with me at age 12 before my bar mitzva. now i treasure the memory.
he wasn't religious (in his heart he loves israel and the rjewish people deeply)...so it was embarassing that he didn't know all the stuff at shul. but now, the fact that he came with me is something i treasure.

(27)
miriam wolkenfeld cohen,
June 14, 2011 6:36 PM

great article

Very nice article; she has grown up to be a good human being and understands the true value of Yiddishkeit. Her dad sounds like a terrific person. Every teenage girl is embarrassed by their Dad, sometimes their Mom, you get over that and if you are lucky you are the one embarrassing your own teenagers. It passes.

(26)
Avi Keslinger,
June 14, 2011 5:57 PM

Finding Money

The proper answer was "it depends upon the circumstances". Sometimes it is permitted to keep money one finds and sometimes not (Choshen Mishpat 262:3, 11-14 and 20). Of course,where there is a law or a suspicion that it is stolen or counterfeit or where there will be a chillul Hashem one must. If one's intention is to do a kiddush Hashem it is praiseworthy (ibid 266:1). However, if one needs the money maybe one should consider it a gift from Hashem (where he is permitted to keep it) and therefore should not return it.

(25)
meira,
June 14, 2011 5:41 PM

just gorgeous! thank you for sharing this story which is honest and inspirational at the same time

(24)
yehudit,
June 14, 2011 6:40 AM

so beautiful

even tho I have nothing interesting to say, how can one not openly support such an openly supportive and loving tribute? Just a note to say thank you for brightening up my day, and to your dad for being a true "light unto the nations".
May you be blessed to continue in his path.

(23)
Lenore,
August 26, 2007 8:54 PM

So lovely and so filled with wisdom.

Your father was a wise man, and you a lucky and wise daughter. Thanks for sharing this tribute to him.

(22)
Me,
July 10, 2007 10:46 AM

You've made dad proud!

Well Ruchama dad must be kvelling. I almost want to go back in time and see him in action doing what he does best - making people feel special. What I love best about dad is when he would come home fri. night and clap his hands and say "Have I gotta parsha for you" and of course his really long bracha for us kids and Kiddush.I'll read this to the kids so they can know grampa even better.Loveyour sister

(21)
Anonymous,
June 17, 2007 12:43 AM

I really like this story. Thank you for letting me learn from your openness.

Hi,Ruchama, it is so wonderful to see you writing on Aish. This was a great story. Everyone, her book Seven Blessings is wonderful!!!!! I reread it every year, it is so beautiful.Such a nice surprise to find you again.Barbara

(16)
Lai Hon Leong,
June 13, 2007 9:09 PM

Inspiring...

Sometimes, as a child, I understand the pain when your parents is doing what is contrary to what you expect them to do. This is always the moment when we will say, "Oh no, there goes my reputation..." However, now I realised that they mean no harm. Thanks mom and dad, I owed both of you.

(15)
Anonymous,
June 13, 2007 8:33 PM

The last line to a great article

WOW thanks for those thoughts. That was rich in thought, truly. I am a BT (female) to Chabad and I love reading articles like yours. I will use my computer to forward this and make an impact as your article has done for me.As for the last line:Best thought I've had in a long time. Great thoughts, packed in a small space!mi k'amcha yisrael, goy echad b'aretz!

(14)
Barry,
June 13, 2007 11:48 AM

Beautiful!

Beautiful comments and a wonderful tribute to a real mensch in the fullest sense of the termThank you.

(13)
Yoshe Revelle,
June 12, 2007 12:35 PM

(: In the struggle, we learn

Thank you for this story. There are no easy answers, only the tough questions and painful wrestling. Shalom :)

(12)
Ruth Halligan,
June 12, 2007 10:57 AM

So....is Bert well and.....?

How is Bert? Is he still with us and shraing his kindness?

(11)
Dvirah,
June 12, 2007 10:08 AM

Janitor?! - Shamash!!

As the grandaughter of a Shul president and cantor, I can tell you that the so-called "janitor" - the Shamash - is an honored position among Orthodox Jews. Our Shamash held equal honor with the Rabbi and my grandfather in the eyes of our community. And look for example at the Hanukah candles: the Shamash, the one candle which isn't "holy", is traditionally placed HIGHER than all the others. It could have been placed lower - but in Judaism, service to others is a high position, not a demeaning one.

(10)
Anonymous,
June 12, 2007 8:05 AM

cool article

I wish that I could have stopped into the den

(9)
Bruce James,
June 11, 2007 9:08 AM

I miss Bert!

It was a wonderful suprise to open my e-mail this morning and see a picture of my old friend Bert King. Bert and I sat near each other in our shul in Silver Spring, Maryland, and its been too long since I've seen him, and about two or three years since I spoke with him, and then he wasn't well. I hope Bert is feeling better. If he reads this, I want him to know that we miss him very much in Silver Spring. And yes, he is a hassid.

(8)
Anonymous,
June 10, 2007 10:45 PM

A Truely Wonderful Man

As someone who lived in Silver Spring, MD during part of my childhood, I am privileged to be one of the neighborhood children whose life Mr. King touched. I will never forget his kind, gentle ways. I will never forget the endless days that he spent entertaining his elderly mother and the other elderly, sickly residents of the neighborhood nursing home. I still hear his kind voice greeting me in a southern accent. He valued community tremendously. Mr. King set a sterling example of bain adam l'chavero and bain adam la'mokom for all of us neighborhood children.

(7)
Gary Hollander,
June 10, 2007 7:02 PM

Interesting and enlightening

I appreciate the Jewish outlook on all the topics that you cover, and enjoy perusing and learning. Enjoy your wide variety of subjects, and delving into the meanings. Thankyou

(6)
Ora Baer,
June 10, 2007 6:27 PM

What a beautiful and inspiring story!

I am privileged to know your father firsthand and have always considered myself one of his biggest fans. Thank you for sharing your father's beautiful character with the wider world. May your story inspire all of us to reach out to others with love and generosity, using our unique G-d-given talents.

(5)
Joseph Ragg,
June 10, 2007 2:26 PM

Thank you, Dad's are so important.

Thank you Ruchama. Dad's are so important and my dad was certainly an inspiration to me. He was very much like your dad :)

(4)
ralph weedman,
June 10, 2007 1:40 PM

there is a selfness of childhood that we slowly turn loose of

(3)
Sharon,
June 10, 2007 1:32 PM

A lovely tribute to a man with a Jewish heart

Dear Ruchama,What a treat it is to find your writings here at aish. This essay is a touching tribute to your dad and your other piece "House of Matches", took me back twenty years as if it were yesterday - a trip down memory lane. And now I see you have published a book! Keep up the good work, and I'll keep looking out for your stories.your long lost friend,Sharon

(2)
Sarah,
June 10, 2007 9:33 AM

Just like My Father

This story made me think of my own father, who also questions everything about organized religion, but is always ready to help someone in need. Growing up with a father who wasn't Jewish and a clearly Greek last name has often made me feel very unwelcome in the Jewish community. That being said, there is no question in my mind that I grew up in a Jewish home, and that my brother and I are both Jewish, a real living faith we learned from both our parents.

(1)
Efraim Jaffe,
June 10, 2007 8:57 AM

Beautiful Story

Your father is an inspiration and a character. He reminds me of my father, z"l, who would also take in any stranger and naturally do chesed, although he lacked a Torah backround. I was also embarrassed by him growing up,(As are most kids of their parents) but now I'm proud of him. Keep writing beautiful stories!

My Christian friends are always speaking about “faith.” To me this sounds a lot like blind faith. Is that really the essence of religion?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

I'm afraid that this is another case of a Christian concept being mis-associated with Judaism.

Let's first define our terms. What is faith?

Webster defines faith as "Belief without proof."

What is knowledge? "An acquaintance with truth, facts or principles through study or investigation."

Faith is usually a product of desire. Have you ever gotten a tip on the market that guarantees you're going to triple your money in a month? A lot of smart people have gotten fleeced because they ignored the evidence and went with their feelings.

Knowledge, on the other hand, is based on evidence. We know there's a place called China because we have too many products in our house saying "made in China." There's a lot of evidence for the existence of China, even though most of us have never been there.

Judaism unequivocally comes down on the side of knowledge, not faith. In Deuteronomy 4:39, the Torah says: "You shall know this day, and understand it well in your heart, that the Almighty is God; in the heaven above and the earth below, there is none other." (This verse is also contained in the prayer, "Aleynu.")

This verse tells us that it is not enough to simply know in your head, intellectually, that God is the Controller of everything. You must know it in your heart! This knowledge is much more profound than an intellectual knowledge. God gave us a brain because he wants us to think rationally about the world, our role in it, and our relationship with God.

A conviction based on desire or feelings alone has no place in Judaism. The Hebrew word "emunah," which is often translated as faith, does not describe a conviction based on feelings or desire. It describes a conviction that is based on evidence.

Once this knowledge is internalized, it effects how a person lives. A person with this knowledge could transform every breathing moment into a mitzvah, for he would do everything for the sake of the heaven. But this is not a "knowledge," that comes easily. Only intensive Torah learning and doing mitzvahs can achieve this knowledge. Every word of Torah we learn moves us just a little bit closer to that goal. And everyone is capable of that.

To learn more, read "The Knowing Heart," by Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (Feldheim.com). This entire book is an explanation of this verse!

In 350 BCE, the building of the second Holy Temple was completed in Jerusalem, as recorded in the biblical Book of Ezra (6:15). The re-building of the Temple had begun under Cyrus when the Persians first took over the Babylonian empire. The re-building was then interrupted for 18 years, and resumed with the blessing of Darius II, the Persian king whom is said to be the son of Esther. The Second Temple lacked much of the glory of the First Temple: There was no Ark of the Covenant, and the daily miracles and prophets were no longer part of the scenery. The Second Temple would stand for 420 years, before being destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE.

You shall know this day and consider it within your heart(Deuteronomy 4:39).

Business people who are involved in many transactions employ accountants to analyze their operations and to determine whether or not they are profitable. They may also seek the help of experts to determine which products are making money and which are losing. Such studies allow them to maximize their profits and minimize their losses. Without such data, they might be doing a great deal of business, but discover at the end of the year that their expenditures exceeded their earnings.

Sensible people give at least as much thought to the quality and achievement of their lives as they do to their businesses. Each asks himself, "Where am I going with my life? What am I doing that is of value? In what ways am I gaining and improving? And which practices should I increase, and which should I eliminate?"

Few people make such reckonings. Many of those that do, do so on their own, without consulting an expert's opinion. These same people would not think of being their own business analysts and accountants, and they readily pay large sums of money to engage highly qualified experts in these fields.

Jewish ethical works urge us to regularly undergo cheshbon hanefesh, a personal accounting. We would be foolish to approach this accounting of our very lives with any less seriousness than we do our business affairs. We should seek out the "spiritual C.P.A.s," those who have expertise in spiritual guidance, to help us in our analyses.

Today I shall...

look for competent guidance in doing a personal moral inventory and in planning my future.

With stories and insights,
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